


One Who Grasps My Spine

by calibratingentropy



Series: Kinky Kisses (and other Galra BDSM practices) [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, Grooming, Kissing As Safeword, Light Bondage, M/M, Oviposition, Quad-sexed Ovoviviparous Marsupial Galra, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calibratingentropy/pseuds/calibratingentropy
Summary: Sleep was necessary. Sleep was impossible.After a very stressful day, Kolivan desperately needs to wind down. Antok has prepared a surprise to help him relax.(This was supposed to be entirely porn. The porn ended up not quite the percentage that was expected, but porn there is.)





	One Who Grasps My Spine

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is set in the general Alternate Universe cluster as my other VLD fics, meaning: Galra are space seahorse-kangaroos. They have four sexes and all sexes have some combination of both penis and vagina. Kolivan is male and Antok is a sex called a carrier, but gender-identifies male. In carriers (and females) the penis and the vagina are merged, forming something quite similar to a female spotted hyena's equipment. Also, there are pouches and syrinxes. 
> 
> It's not technically connected to any of the other stories, but could be read as being in the same timeline as Ménage à Trois.
> 
> Also! While the discussion doesn't happen in the fic itself, everything that happens is something that Antok and Kolivan had discussed together, and Antok has standing permission to surprise Kolivan for a session if Kolivan is stressed. 
> 
> Pretty much every act in this fic is meant to be kinky as hell to Galra (who just don't mix kissing and sex, as a rule, for one) and if anyone has any questions about why a particular thing is or isn't kinky, I'm happy to break the comment box by replying with an explanation. In this fic, kisses are used as a green/yellow/red safeword setup, because Galra are very sensitive to a partner's physical, mental and emotional state while sharing kisses.

Sleep was necessary. Sleep was impossible.

An agent compromised, a mission ruined. Years of work, lost, and for a single slave. Kolivan felt for the plight of slaves of the Empire, but they couldn’t afford to free them. Too much risk, rarely any reward. Old guilt churned, and he bit back the urge to sigh, to lash out in fear, to moan in frustration. He’d almost lost an agent, a _brother_ , today, and that was worse than the failure of the mission. But it shouldn’t have been, because the mission was more important than the individual. It had to be, or they would burn themselves out uselessly struggling against the smothering weight of the Empire. They had to focus on the bigger picture, the long game, and not—

Logic didn’t ease the old fear clawing under his skin, or the frustration that Ulaz would be so _reckless_ warring with maybe a little respect that Ulaz had acted on his principles. It was done. The Champion was free, and maybe if they were very lucky, it would do something to stop the almost inevitable invasion of that system in pursuit of the Blue Lion. It would be Krolia or Thace deserting next, because it was their _child_ still so very, very young, who would be in direct danger in that scenario, and not even cold logic could begrudge them protecting their child. What would be more forgivable to the universe? Sacrificing one of their missions so they could go or sending a new, less experienced Blade to rescue the child and their alien parent from the doomed planet?

The gap in intel left by Ulaz’s abrupt absence from the field couldn’t even be easily plugged. So few of their agents had the necessary skills that would allow them closer to Zarkon’s witch, and it would take the careful work of decades to get another into a position to attract her attention and be promoted to the horrible, awful work of helping with her experiments. But the witch’s experiments were so often terrible weapons, so the Blade needed to _know_. That they wouldn’t, not for a long while, sent a low throb of fear through Kolivan’s heart. Just that risked their agents and their missions so much. 

Kolivan was exhausted, text long ago gone blurry in front of his eyes as he pulled up screen after screen of reports and sent countless encoded communications. Plug the hole, salvage what they could. The halls of the base were too still and quiet, all but the day watch and a few other late workers gone to bed for their sleep cycle, and Kolivan knew he wouldn’t sleep. But he was going anyway, because Antok had told him in no uncertain terms that Kolivan would be carried to bed otherwise. Kolivan held no illusions about his partner (consort in truth but intensely private because forever, until _death_ , was something too fragile and precious to share with anybody but themselves) being both willing and able to make good on that threat. 

So Kolivan palmed the door lock, wondering if he could get away with pulling up some less vital reports on his personal console once Antok dropped off to sleep. The sharp pressure against the base of his skull, braid yanked hard enough that Kolivan pitched forward a step before he regained his balance, was a surprise and Kolivan felt a flush of embarrassment. He was so distracted and stressed that he hadn’t even scented Antok lying in wait. 

In less than a tick, Kolivan’s chest was pushed against the wall next to the door, braid a firm but not constricting line of pressure around his throat. The instinct to struggle died unborn in him and Kolivan went still, consciously relaxing his fingers out from where they’d been clenched in fists. The ache and tension at the action told him that he’d had his hands locked down tight (better than coming at things claws-out) for too long. 

“You’re late,” Antok’s voice rumbled behind him, felt more than heard, “did I not tell you to come to bed? It’s well past your bedtime, Yl-gnarri.” 

_My jeweled one._ Precious, beautiful, to be held close, worshipped, and guarded jealously. Something inside Kolivan clenched, shivered, and released in a punched out breath at the endearment in ancient Galran. He had no excuse, nothing he could offer to explain himself, and held his tongue to avoid even an accidental lie. But his body betrayed him, and a tremulous squeak wrenched itself from his chest. An instinctive sounding of helplessness and distress, begging for comfort, almost never voiced past childhood. _Embarrassing_ , but true. The line of pressure around his throat that was also a gentle tug encouraging his neck to arch was familiar and welcomed by a part of him that didn’t thrive inside the carefully compartmentalized maze of walls and defenses, and it started crumbling those defenses. Kolivan couldn’t have felt more stripped naked than if he’d been physically unclothed and spread open and tied in front of judgmental eyes.

The kiss wasn’t unexpected as thick, clawed fingers turned his chin, and a soft dry pressure of lips flickered over his mouth. Kolivan needed no coaxing to open his mouth to the question, and Antok’s long tongue filled him, teasing against the ridges of his hard palate and pressing down against his tongue. A flood of information hit his brain. Health, _strength_ , and an undercurrent of stress, all layered under a heady rush of concern _for him_. The old, familiar tingle of grief hung at the edges of what the kiss communicated, that prick of a particular loneliness so common to the carriers among the Blades. Empty wombs and pouches, denied because children were the greatest and most terrible gift a Blade could ever receive and so few dared risk the almost inevitable heartbreak of trying.

The kiss soothed, as kisses were meant to, but also kindled a tingle of interest in low his gut. Kissing as a part of sex was decried as perverse by many, but it was something else, secret, precious, just for them. The distressed squeak soothed out into a reassuring coo, and Antok answered it with his own scratchy warble. Antok’s syrinx had never developed as fine or as flexible as full Galra’s or most hybrids’ did, so all his instinctive noises had a roughness to them, that only made Kolivan adore his consort all the more.

Antok stepped back with a throaty hum of satisfaction layering over the warble, and the grip on Kolivan’s braid had him stepping back and twisting to follow, the pressure and tug both grounding and guiding. “Knees,” Antok said, finally, “and gloves off.” 

It took concentration to remember that he couldn’t just let his weight and gravity drop him to the deck. Antok would be displeased if Kolivan allowed his knees to be bruised so carelessly. So Kolivan knelt carefully and sighed as he felt some tension drain out of his shoulders. He was tempted to remove the entire top of his armor, but just stuck with pulling off his gloves, as told.

Antok’s huge, three fingered hands reached down to cup Kolivan’s head, claws trailing over the sagittal bumps and then tickling at the edge of his mane. The feel of his own braid, still folded over Antok’s palm, tickling against his cheek made Kolivan gasp and then shiver as the pull had him tipping his head back. Antok rumbled something happy and wordless, and for several breaths, neither of them moved. It was almost peaceful, but worries and stress (Ulaz was en route to the Thaldycon base; what if he was tracked?) started trying to intrude. 

A jerk of his braid, movement discrete and barely felt but branding itself into his consciousness all the same, brought Kolivan back. Antok made a disappointed glottal click, and frowned down at him, face unmasked in the privacy of their quarters. “Yl-gnarri, you’ve let yourself be wounded by the outside world. That’s unacceptable. I’m going to take care of you now, and I want all of your attention on me, understood?” 

The tone was gentle, and the words were inflected with loving, intimate care, but there was an undercurrent of sharp steel underneath. Antok wouldn’t allow for argument or doubt. It was obey or be _made_ to obey, and a wash of tiredness hit Kolivan. Obey. Tonight he would obey. “Yes, Uil-mydrix.” 

The first descent, the first break of that ancient, intimate word past his lips was always followed by a flush of almost heady shame. Even the pronoun hardly dared at possessive, an inflection so humble it cast doubt on his worthiness to even say ‘my’ and the old word itself had fallen out of regular use even before the first Emperor had taken the throne. It roughly meant ‘one who grasps my spine’ and referenced an ancient practice of inserting a set of interlocking rings, called vrormyd, that were fit around and drilled through one of the cervical vertebrae so that the final ring of it extended out past the skin. Improper insertion could paralyze or worse, and a strong tug of a lead or chain hooked to the vrormyd could easily do the same. It was the ultimate vulnerability to another person, and while Kolivan would never consider such risky addition, right here and right now, the silky pressure of his braid looped around his throat was as intensely intimate and powerfully moving as a vrormyd. And Antok held his braid. 

Antok’s scent was thick with approval and pride, and his thumb shifted to press against Kolivan’s chin and then his mouth. At the pressure, Kolivan opened and sucked that thick, thick thumb into his mouth, feeling a thrill at the prick of a claw indenting on his tongue. It was almost enough to have his eyes flutter shut from it. Almost. Antok chuckled. “We will start with grooming, to hone your focus.” 

Kolivan started to turn his head towards where they kept their grooming supplies, a whole drawer full of different combs and cloths, rasps and brushes, but the thumb and a tug on his braid kept him still. Antok’s scent went juicy with amusement and he tisked at Kolivan like he was an overeager child. “With your own natural tools, Yl-gnarri.” 

_Oh_. His breath shook as Kolivan released it, and a bright curl of anticipation settled in his chest. It would be rude to let it bloom into arousal, and Kolivan had control enough over himself to stop the slide, but he couldn’t help the little chirp as Antok squatted in front of him. The robe that Kolivan hadn’t really _noticed_ until now fell open, and Antok braced himself with the muscular base of his tail, far stronger than its thin length hinted at. Kolivan only hesitated a moment, unsure of where Antok wanted him to begin, but it would seem that he was being given the freedom of choice. The braid was loose between Antok’s thumb and finger, tip flicking against Kolivan’s cheek as Antok rolled his fingertips against each other. 

Start low and work his way up, Kolivan decided, so he bent over, feeling the tension in his thighs and abdomen to hold the position. He set his mouth to Antok’s massive and wickedly curved inner toe-claw, kissing and licking away any dirt. He pressed at the cuticle with his claws, making sure it was healthy and and properly in place, and then soothing with his tongue, before he moved on to the pebbly scales that marked Antok’s feet. With careful clawtips, he stimulated them, prying loose any dead skin, and then followed it with finger-pads and tongue. It was, if nothing else, an activity that took all his focus and Kolivan threw himself into it with a will. 

Antok kept up a deep, creaking rumble of approval and nothing else mattered but the taste under his tongue of skin and scale and oils, and the warm scent, and that soothing sound. Antok extended his legs obligingly so that Kolivan could get the backs of his calves and knees, and then shifted forward, spreading his legs and Kolivan worked his way up those thick, powerful thighs. There was a tangy, rich scent inviting him closer and Kolivan chirped again, but he didn’t dare break from his appointed task, as thick scaly skin transitioned to thin fur and smaller, scattered scutes. He pressed his claws in gentle circles over skin, licked against, and then with the growth of the fur, and then smoothed it all down with massaging fingers. 

Closer. Kolivan knew without asking that the soft, so soft, skin at the apex of Antok’s thighs was not a place for claws, and so began with his tongue. Soft strokes over the wrinkled skin of Antok’s external canal first, where it was still held tight to his body. The taste, salt and tang and musk, of that tender skin made his heart skip a beat, and Antok grunted with it. He followed the gentle curve of it up to the entrance, where the lobes of Antok’s cock were starting to emerge from his canal. They squeezed gently against Kolivan’s tongue, and he pressed his own tongue _in_ for a second before there was a tug on his braid. 

“Just grooming right now,” Antok chided gently, and then he shifted, bending back to support himself on one hand. The move exposed the juncture of his thighs from the front of his pelvis to the base of his tail. 

Kolivan took the movement as a command, and licked his way back, kneading with the pads of his fingers. A faintly metallic scent informed him that Antok had put a protective barrier in place over his cloaca, and Kolivan wouldn’t have hesitated anyway, but the warm feeling of Antok having such care for him made Kolivan feel light. He licked around and _in_ , but didn’t linger here either. Antok’s tail twitched and shivered as he massaged his way down. The fur was thicker here, and he had to spend more time combing through it with his claws before taking tongue to it. Antok’s rumbling deepened, and his tail curled around Kolivan’s wrist, and there was no better feeling than that. Feeling bold, Kolivan took the tip into his mouth for a second and sucked firmly. It earned him a hiss and a sharper tug on his braid, but it was worth it. 

Then Antok settled on the floor and dropped the robe, still towering over Kolivan, even kneeling. Hands settled at the base of his skull and Kolivan was drawn into a deep kiss. He let Antok spear his mouth with that thick, dextrous tongue, and the burst of knowledge on his senses made him feel like he was melting. Health, _strength_ , pride and approval pushing back the concern. Antok smiled at him, and then tugged on his braid again. Back to work then.

Since he was there, Kolivan started on the broad shoulders and chest in front of him, sighing into the thicker fur there, arrowing down to Antok’s roomy pouch. His focus was on making sure each patch of fur lay properly over the scattering of scutes, and Kolivan paid special attention to the external pouch skin. 

It was entirely transgressive to press more than a hand down into a carrier’s pouch, but Kolivan only felt the barest moment of thrill before pushing onward. He raked up the thick fur, carefully removing loose bits of undercoat hair by hair, and then smoothed it back down and went to work with his mouth. Each teat got a thorough lick, and by the third, each punched a helpless sound out of Antok. Kolivan felt like he was made of light, warm and bright and vibrating out of his skin. 

He marveled at muscle and scale as he worked over each arm, and then Antok shifted to let Kolivan at his back. There were thick bony plates there, overlapping in a way that meant Antok wasn’t the most graceful of Blades, but was one of the best protected. And peaking out from under each, tufts of the softest, silkiest fur Kolivan had ever encountered. But that very fact made it more difficult to groom. The challenge only meant that Antok’s pride in him would be even greater when he finished. 

Pushing the edge of the plate up to get to the fur and combing it out with his claws was almost meditative, absorbing, and Kolivan ended up making a mournful sound when he realized he was done. How he’d gotten to the soft skin around Antok’s tail, and the firm muscle of his ass so quickly he…

A tug on his braid guided him up so his stomach was against Antok’s back, and Antok kissed him again over his broad, armored shoulder, quicker and soft. His approving rumble grew. “Such skill, Yl-gnarri. You’re so attentive to me. What are you thinking about right now?”

“Uil-mydrix.” There was no burn of shame, only a slow bloom of contentment. Kolivan had nothing to fear or worry about; Antok would care for him. 

“And what do you want right now?”

What he wanted? Kolivan grunted and pressed his face to Antok’s shoulder, breathing in the scent there. “Uil-mydrix.” 

A huff, and warm, juicy amusement in Antok’s scent. “Be more specific, Yl-gnarri.” 

The demand felt like so much, and yet Kolivan was so earnest in his need to fulfill it. “I want… to please you, make you proud. Uil-mydrix.” 

The rumble vibrated in his _bones_ and when Antok stood, he still had Kolivan’s braid, so Kolivan stood with him. “Strip then. I want to see all of you, Yl-gnarri. I want to see it when your control breaks and you end up soaked and open for me.” 

Kolivan was only too happy to comply, remembering to fold the uniform as he removed it at only the last second. In moments he stood, thighs spread, and toe-claws clicking against the deck as he flexed them. The anticipation of the wait made his cock stir, but Kolivan didn’t give in. The implicit order to hold back until his control was broken was there, and he would please Antok. 

Antok chirped, and started walking around him, hand with the braid resting heavy and warm on his shoulder and stretching that line of heat to keep the braid in place firmly around his throat. When the circle was done, Antok smiled, every tooth a sharp, _sharp_ gleam in the lights. “Show me your canal, how lovely you are for me.” 

There had been no order to shift and sit, so Kolivan put a hand under his knee and hoisted one leg up and out. His balance was unsteady like this, but for Antok, he would do it. 

Antok chirped again, then fell back to the approving rumble. “Look at the way your canal seeks me, trying to stretch out like a switch’s. You’re quivering for me, Yl-gnarri.” 

Kolivan groaned, knowing he was getting slick. There was a line of pressure around his thigh, squeezing and traveling up—Antok’s tail—and a chirp dragged its way out of his chest. Antok’s tail would smell of his slick for hours now, of _him_. 

“That’s it.” Antok came closer, so they were chest to chest, and a tug on his braid forced Kolivan to tip his head back. “I’m going to thread your canal with mine, and then I will fill your womb with a clutch, until you’re so full that you beg to be done. And then I’ll put one more in you.” 

There was no stopping it. His cock unsheathed, and Kolivan trilled at the very thought. Oh. Oh _yes_. Antok kissed him, tongue sliding deep, and fangs pricking at his lips. Kolivan followed the sensation, licking against those teeth, and shivering when he was allowed entrance of his own. Health, _strength_ , pride, care, _desire_. For a moment, the ever-present loneliness was gone. When Antok pulled back, they both gasped, and Kolivan needed to lean against his consort, suddenly unsure of his balance on two feet, much less one. With a chuckle that was half in his chest, Antok pushed his leg down and nuzzled his neck. “I will need you still; can you do that for me? Will you need to be tied?” 

The kiss had helped him, and Kolivan could focus his thoughts on something other than pleasing Antok. He could probably remain still, he thought, but… “Yes, Uil-mydrix. Tying would be good too, if it pleases you.” 

He was kissed again, more softly, and then Antok finally led him to the bed. A weight was clamped to the braid to keep the pressure on his throat steady while Antok’s hands were busy, as he was gestured silently to lie back, and then one hand was lifted above his head. For a moment, Kolivan’s thoughts went blank, the only thing mattering was Antok’s closeness, and the soft but firm feel of the tie going around his wrist. Then his other arm was guided above his head, spread out—

Unease broke through the soft haze. On his back, spread like this… The druids tied their prisoners to the interrogation tables like this and—

The whine caught Antok’s attention and Kolivan was kissed again. It soothed, but Antok’s sudden _tension_ communicated through it before it broke. “Yl-gnarri, what exactly upsets you?” 

“The position,” Kolivan managed to grind out, after the second try. 

His hands were free in a moment, and they kissed again, slow kisses that were barely a brush of lips, and then deeper ones. The unease faded, and Antok’s hand closed around the weight clamped to his braid. There was nothing, no thought, but to follow, and Kolivan’s arms were drawn back behind his back. The silken cord was wrapped around his wrists and almost up to his elbows. Another kiss, and Kolivan returned it eagerly, relishing the feel of resistance. A part of him, buried deep and sleepy, commented that he could break free of the binding without effort, but the _containment_ of it had him shivering and feeling almost weightless.

The hand on his braid tugged and twisted until Kolivan had to follow it around, and Antok nuzzled his back, where the bindings put pressure on the muscles of his shoulders. A push, and he tipped forward, trusting Antok enough to let himself fall. There was a thick pillow under his shoulders, and his hips were drawn up until his back was in a concave bow, knees pushed apart. More ties, soft but _felt_ , were looped around his knees so that he couldn’t close his thighs. His breath caught. 

Another kiss. Health, _strength_ , pride, care, _desire_. Everything Antok was. Everything Uil-mydrix was. A wet, sloppy kiss was pressed agains his shoulder, followed by a _bite_. Teeth pricked his skin in a sharp sting, a faint scent of blood hit the air. Kolivan bit back a moan. 

“Want to hear you, Yl-gnarri.” 

Another bite against the meat of his upper arm. Kolivan let himself cry out, sharp and gasping. He could scent Uil-mydrix’s approval, as thick as the arousal. It was perfect. Kolivan relaxed against the bonds, keening and trilling as he was bitten again on the hip. 

“I will need to stretch you for my canal; sing out for me, but hold still.” Uil-mydrix’s breath was hot and wet against his thigh, then against his canal. It started with a lick. 

Kolivan trilled, then trilled again as that thick, strong tongue eased inside, pulling and pressing against the rim of his canal. The touch was soothing, trying to lull away the need, but the pressure sparked desire higher anyway. Time collapsed. There was nothing but the slow strokes in and out of his canal, each pushing him farther, opening him up—

A clawtip, scratching his thigh. Kolivan’s breath hitched, and he sobbed in a twist of anticipation and concern. When the claw pressed against his canal, it took _effort_ to hold still, and that bright point of almost-threat slid _in_. His trill tangled with his sob as the stretch turned the soft weightlessness into dizzying pleasure. There was no pain, but Kolivan was hyper aware of the unyielding point that could damage him so easily, and his breaths stuttered in-out-in faster. Faster.

Stretch. _Stretch_. The tongue was back, lapping around the edge of his canal and pushing—In. In _In_. The hoarse shout was him, and an ache had built, unnoticed until now, until he almost forgot not to move. The quick unclench- _clench_ told Kolivan how good he’d been at holding still, how sore he’d be from the strain later. How—

Uil-mydrix was pulling back, pulling away. “No, please don’t— Please— Uil-mydrix!”

That mouth found his and Kolivan tasted his own slick, tangy spiced musk. If felt like his womb quivered at the sensation along his tongue. As he drew a breath back in, the slow deep rumble that vibrated along his bones resolved into words. “Shh, beautiful one. Yl-gnarri. I’ll give you everything you need. I can’t thread you full with my tongue already in you, now can I? Shh, shh.” 

Pressure. There was a wiggle that said cock through the fog and then it burned. Not true pain, but stretch enough to light a nebula behind his eyelids. Uil-mydrix was always true, always took care of him. Always—

Things shattered into discrete sensations. Stretch, most of all, pressing up, up, _in_. Movement like solar winds, deceptively beautiful, but carrying him away. Teeth, against his shoulder. The line of firm-soft pressure around his throat, an ever-present comfort. Scent, a warm mix of affection and need. The slide and push, so deep, commanding his womb to open.

He was going to peak—The kiss stole his breath, gripped him like gravity. Uil-mydrix’s lips were prying his open and sealing down. Kolivan remembered to curl his tongue around the welcome intrusion. Space. “Going to fill you now—“ None. 

Kolivan nearly screamed, muffled by the mouth on his. He could feel it, pushing, pushing— he was being arranged to fit around it. Clutch. An egg. Oh—

There was a moment of almost pain then _release_. The perfect clarity was sharper than a blade. An egg had been delivered inside his womb. Uil-mydrix was grunting, panting, calling so beautifully. 

Another. 

_Another_. Kolivan didn’t have the breath to scream, trill breaking in his chest. The _pressure_. There was a jolt that was too much and not enough and— He was peaking, muscles trembling, rippling around the stretch. 

Anoth— Too much. _Too much_. “Stop. —can’t. Please.” 

Mouth on his, tongue pressing in. Health, _strength_ , pride, care, concern. “You can. One more for me? Yl-gnarri. Just one more.” 

Too much. So much. But Uil-mydrix was true. He’d said Kolivan could, so he could. Kolivan trilled broken into the kiss, not able to form words, but Uil-mydrix understood anyway. 

The pressure that had stalled suddenly surged forward. Kolivan screamed. Too much. _so much_. But he could. He could. He _could—_ It was crowding against his womb, pushing in. Rearranging him around it. Filling him—

The second peak was more of a surprise than the fact that the egg fit. It was silent; there was no air left to scream. It was a black hole, dragging him down to an infinitely tiny focus. It was a supernova, wiping him out and burning him up. It was the gravitation pull of a moon on a planet’s tides, in and out, impossible to deny, a constant. It was a pulsar, sharp, so bright. Bright. _Bright_. 

…Kolivan was on his side, warm, sore, boneless. Heat at his back. Hands squeezing up and down his shoulders. There was a rumble vibrating through him when he stirred, gasping for no reason besides _being_. There was a mouth, licking in soft, almost imperceptible strokes at a stinging spot on his shoulder. 

“Kolivan… my daring, lovely consort.” Uil-myd— Antok’s voice was rough, but his tone was as warm as his scent. 

Kolivan had to lie still and breathe for a moment, putting thoughts together, but the kiss, so slow and gentle, helped him remember. Stress, Antok, submission… He kissed back, swiping his tongue over teeth but not further just yet. Content to just be. There was pressure in his womb that threatened pain, but wasn’t _quite_ , and his canal was shivering, too overtaxed to even try to bear down but too full to not try. He felt so very _good_. 

Antok huffed, scent gone ripe with self-satisfaction, and deepened the kiss as— Okay, _that_ hurt a little as Antok pulled his cock and canal free. But it was a good hurt of a pleasantly overworked canal, and Kolivan felt hollow in the way that sang of shared pleasure that couldn’t last, and a distant promise of more soon. 

Antok huffed again, and took mouth and hands to the fur lining Kolivan’s shoulders. Grooming. It was rare that they groomed each other with just what nature had given them, but it was soothing in a way that nothing else was, and Kolivan was content to close his eyes and bask. There were kisses, every few moments. Check-ins, and just for the sheer soothing pleasure of it. Antok nearly gleamed through each kiss, physiological status singing joy and relaxation. 

At some point, as he drifted down from the weightless haze, the grooming changed to massage. It was grounding in a way that grooming wasn’t, giving Kolivan something to focus on. A base from which to gather the scattered parts of himself and put his mind and body back together. The soreness increased with each press, but then ebbed, and by the time Antok was stretching out his abused arms and shoulders, Kolivan felt like he’d been turned to water. 

Almost as if Antok had anticipated the thought, and the thirst that followed on its heels, a glass was pressed to his lips. Kolivan drank, found his voice hoarse when he tried to say thank you, and then just subsided into quiet kisses. 

There was no reason to move, so they didn’t. Sharing kisses and the warmth of their bodies was enough. The almost frantic high of submitting so entirely to someone he trusted was gone, but in its place was a bone deep contentment. His partner, his consort. Antok. 

But the reminders weren’t all done, because it would be another varga or so before the dummy eggs dissolved and the carefully formulated fluid inside was reabsorbed. But four might have been a little overambitious for a first attempt, and Antok’s hand pressed over his stomach when Kolivan hissed at the feeling of being overfull. It only made it worse, but somehow better, and Antok laughed at how his scent had gone petulant. “Did you enjoy playing a carrier for tonight?” 

Did Antok even have to ask? “Oh _yes_. I can’t believe you chose today of all days, but it was wonderful, thank you.” 

Antok only raised an eyebrow at Kolivan. Oh, he knew perfectly well why Antok had sprung an intense session on him today, and he wasn’t going to think about it and ruin the moment with stress again, but out of all the ideas they’d discussed at one point or another, why this one _now_? Kolivan kissed Antok again, trying to get some clue, and there was that particular loneliness— _Oh_. “Just say the words, my consort. It would be a more precious gift than—“

He was cut off in another kiss, rough and with a sting of teeth. “Don’t tempt me, please. We both know why we can’t.” 

As much as it hurt, that they did, so Kolivan warbled soft and soothing, and pulled Antok into another kiss. The foolish part of him that had never grown up whispered that perhaps when the war was done… The chances were so slim. So he kissed his consort instead. 

Sleep tempted, but Antok tempted more, so Kolivan fought the tiredness. Eventually Antok sighed and nipped sharply at his ear-tip in reprimand. “I don’t want to talk about your freeze just now because we both know the cause and it would only bring back all your stress, but if you insist on not sleeping, we will, and then I’ll have to thread your canal _and_ your cloaca full until you can’t even remember your name to get you soothed again.” 

As much as Kolivan liked the idea, he really didn’t think he could handle another session tonight, and the threat was made in jest. Probably. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

Antok’s grin was too full of teeth to be a jest. Probably. “If you insist on being disobedient, you’ll have to face the consequences.” 

Kolivan kissed him, pressing his tongue firm and demanding past those glorious teeth. He massaged Antok’s hard palate and luxuriated in the contrast of soothing and desire for a moment before surrendering and tucking his nose against his consort’s throat. A hard session always did leave him so pleasantly exhausted. 

As he started to drift off, Antok’s tail curled around his thigh, matching the now loose drape of his braid around his throat. The two points of contact spoke of security, care, companionship…

Sleep came easy.


End file.
